


Americano

by LegendofMajora



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 05:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4733831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegendofMajora/pseuds/LegendofMajora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whatever Shizuo finds in America, Izaya hopes it's worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Americano

"So that's it?" Shizuo acts like he's the one to be hurt by this, like he has any right to the puppy dog eyes wavering in the bite of what's to come. "You don't care? I knew you were nothing but trash, I didn't expect it to be this bad!"

Izaya's eyes are on the floor, where no one knows what he's feeling as he keeps his gaze on the ground. His back is turned to Shizuo, conveying that this is the end even if he doesn't want it to be. That's only if, and a very big one at that.

"Being trash has nothing to do with what you're about to do, Heiwajima-san," Izaya reminds him, the edge of a feral sneer razed in his words where Shizuo can feel instead of see. He has no right to watch this, not now, not when Shizu-chan decides to leave again.

Not like the first time wasn't as bad.

Three months is too _early_ to start missing him, too early to tell himself that he's feeling something no one else can touch except for the brute in front of him. And he's making one too many mistakes, with letting Shizuo in one more time because the sight of him is breathtaking and overwhelming.

"And I thought I was here because Shinra was worried." Shizuo glances toward the door, not bothering to remark that Izaya has long since dropped the nickname, though the formality stings with a bitter turn. "I told you that it was because it would be better for us if I left. So what are you so mad at me for, talking to me like a stranger?"

It's like he doesn't even care to know why. More that he chooses not to, Izaya supposes as he steels himself, forcing his eyes from the ground and hasn't remembered a time his eyes stung like this. "Then leave. You aren't a welcome guest in my apartment." He spins in his chair, coming to face Shizuo who hasn't left yet and is only exacerbating every stinging word that comes out of his mouth. "Get. _Out._ " Brown eyes catch his, blue sunglasses missing and the picture is all wrong, smudged by the anger and rage boiling in his stomach.

Izaya never asked for this. For an ex to show up, unannounced all part of Shinra's _plan_ because he's been more than just down for the longest time. Whatever is in America that Izaya doesn't have, _that's_ what Shizuo wants. That's what he chooses over Izaya and he leaves with a goodbye of they're breaking up. And just when Izaya still isn't over it and still not over goodbye Shizuo comes back, high and mighty like nothing's wrong with a new tan and an American accent to his words.

He's not angry, Izaya watches his eyes for any sort of contempt, kicking himself when he finds none. No, because Shizuo _enjoys_ living in America. With a well-paying job, a string of girlfriends, nothing to remind him of his old life here in Ikebukuro and chronic anger.

"Izaya," his eyes are too soft, too showy and forcing a hard swallow from the informant who can't turn away from what's coming.

Don't you dare, don't you dare start—

"I still love you."

Shizuo shows himself out the door, what's needed to be said is already out there, hanging in the suffocating atmosphere of has-been and trying to cope with the fact that times have changed. So does Shizuo, but Izaya hasn't had the best time coming to terms with it, despite feeling perfectly fine beforehand. No, everything was just fine before Shizuo showed up, interrupting the natural flow of getting over it. And if that's not enough, he leaves with that sort of contempt, laced in what sounds like an apology or a love letter that's halfhearted and never means anything so it's not supposed to hurt.

By the time the door clicks shut, echoing in the searing silence of Izaya's apartment, his arms fold on the desk, giving his head a place to rest. The only sound ringing in his ears are the soft words from someone who was supposed to love him, now washed out and faded and worth nothing at all. No trace of sentimental value, no meaning behind them, just a crack in the walls of a dam.

Deep breaths, Izaya reminds himself, slow exhales from his belly as he counts, eyes closed. Now isn't a good time to start missing _him_ , since it's been three months and he just needs to get through it, go on existing like it never hurts.

Whatever is in America, he hopes it's worth it.

_~_

It _hurts._

Every minute and it doesn't stop. Every second, every breath and exhale and night without sleep he can't help but feel how much it hurts. One week of this amounts to choked-off breaths as his chest tightens and ignoring calls from Shinra when he can't breathe. Shinra asks too many questions anyway, about Shizuo and he doesn't realize what exactly he's done by inviting Shizuo to come to Ikebukuro last week.

And in the meantime he's looked through countless old folders on his computer, containing memories of pictures taken while they were together. Some sort of sentimentality he hasn't outgrown, not with the bitter feel of heartbreak sliding into the cracks and shattering what little self-control he has left. It takes alcohol, his poison of choice as Pinot Grigio in fancy glasses while he glances through photos. Alcohol is the only thing that keeps him from giving in to the smooth screen of his phone and calling the wrong number.

After all, Shizu— _Shizuo_ has already moved on. Found a job, happy somewhere that doesn't involve Izaya and he already left before they had any chance to discuss—Izaya didn't want to hear it. By the time the plane took off he kept himself together with needles and thread soaked in alcohol and sleeping pills.

With the emptiness of his apartment it's a lonely reminder to the fact he hasn't been himself at all lately, not since Shizuo came by unannounced, frowning like he felt sorry for Izaya. And it's ridiculous, Izaya never needs pity, much less of a monster who took everything with him to a foreign country and left him behind.

Standing and heading to his kitchen proves itself to be difficult, stumbling with the alcohol in his system. A sharp pain rips through his chest, nearly sending him toppling over in its breathless fury. Whether or not his cheeks are wet with wine or saltwater is up to debate, tightly clenching his phone set on one contact he hasn't gotten rid of. All the temptation to just forget about him, move on, and he's till back at square one.

"Fuck…" Izaya catches himself on the counter, this time not from drunkenness. His chest _hurts_ like a bitch, stinging and pulling itself into knots from how much it hurts. His finger hovers over the call button, blinking the blurriness out of his eyes while it streaks cold trails down his cheeks. The pound of his heart echoes in his ears, insufferably loud while his chest aches.

Another spike of pain flares, aggressively searing itself into Izaya's chest with white-hot intensity. There's no way to keep himself standing now, toppling to the floor and as soon as he hits, his phone skitters out from his fingers and the agony making it impossible to grab it. There's no way he can call Shinra now, not to admit to the mess that he is and torn into a silently writhing mess.

On the floor he gasps, struggling for breaths as his throat tightens in a choke hold, refusing to let up. His chest turns itself inside-out, his eyes dripping tears onto the floor in the first time he can't deny that he's falling apart.

It hurts so badly, he just wants to start screaming for how stupid he is in thinking he'd be fine, after all this time and Shizuo comes and ruins him for fun, tears him apart with only a couple words like he's never cared. It's even harder to admit that Izaya still does, never having been able to stop even as he chokes on the floor, cold and drunk and too full of emptiness to pull himself together.

His phone is so far away, he glances at it once and lets out a choked sigh, comparing it to the lover leaving him grounded like this. A name stains his lips, the feeling of blood dribbling from his ears and mouth as he curls in on himself in the throes of an invisible pain.

Heartache has never been so unbearable.

Izaya should have never let himself love this painfully.

**Author's Note:**

> This one was so sad, requesting for broken heart syndrome with Izaya, so I took some artistic liberties.
> 
> Poor baby. p.q
> 
> Thank you for reading. ꒒ ০ ⌵ ୧ ♡


End file.
